Songs We Can’t Erase From Our Heads

After more than two years of the pandemic, our town was finally able to properly celebrate it’s annual fiesta last January. And perhaps to make up for the two years that our town was bereft of its most anticipated annual week-long celebration due to the dreaded coronavirus, the municipal government pulled the necessary strings to bring---tadahh—Ely Buendia to our town. For those who do not know, Buendia was the chief songwriter and frontman of the seminal 90’s Filipino band, the Eraserheads.

To the generation who grew up during the 90’s, and were therefore able to witness the Heads’ rise and eventual demise in real time, watching Buendia perform live onstage was like meeting one of the apostles. I belong to that generation. And so braving the cold night and the traffic, and defying the doctor’s advice that I should always get a decent amount of sleep, I, with my wife in tow, put off watching The Hunt on Netflix (we were in the movie’s climax, by the way), and rushed to the show’s venue.

We arrived just in time to see Buendia walk onto the stage to a thunderous applause from the crowd. The band that accompanied him that night, who had been tuning their instruments when he was introduced, was the same band that he had been touring the country and abroad with. It consisted of Nitoy Adriano  on guitar, Carissa Ramos on bass, Audry Dionesio on guitar, and Pat Sarabia on drums. All of them are accomplished musicians in their own right. Adriano was the guitarist of the legendary 80s Pinoy Rock Band, the Jerks; Ramos has released a couple of moderately successful singles and maintains a considerable following on social media; Dionesio was from the all-female Pinoy Rock Band, General Luna; and Sarabia, the drummer, was from the band Oh, Flamingo. Not taking anything away from the Heads, but to say that Buendia’s backing band that night would give the Heads themselves a run for their money as far as performing live is concerned would be an understatement.

Surpassing expectations, Buendia and his band were on stage for almost an hour and a half. This is a far cry from the town’s guest performer from two years prior, who was on stage only for about 20 minutes, and was reportedly mad at the crowd for not being “cooperative” enough (she was pissed that the crowd did not dance while she was singing).  It is rumored that she was paid a million pesos for that performance.

But back to Buendia and his backing band.

Buendia was in good spirits all throughout the show. In fact, it might even be said he was very eager to please the crowd. This is very uncharacteristic of him, considering his reputation during the heyday of the Heads. Two of my high school classmates who saw the Heads perform at Calesa Café in Sta. Rosa, Laguna in 1997 reported that Buendia lost his cool mid-performance due to unruly crowd behavior. They quoted him as saying “Tang*#% naman eh, kung gusto ninyong tumayo sa upuan puwede naman talaga!” (Sonafa*@tch! If you want to stand on your seats, then do it!).

The Buendia that showed up during our town fiesta, however, was very different. He displayed no air of superiority or arrogance that characterizes many rock-and-roll stars. He was tolerant of misbehavior from the crowd, which was really embarrassing (so much for hospitality!) In-between songs, he engaged in light-hearted banter with the audience. At one point, he could also be seen pointing at his shirt, in apparent response to a remark from someone in the crowd. But what really made me and my wife erupt in laughter was when he changed some of the lyrics to “Overdrive” to “Magda-drive ako hanggang (name of our town)/ Tapos bibili ako ng talong.”

Is there anything more un-rock-and-roll than that? 

Buendia sang a total of 13 songs. Four of these were from the Heads’ debut album, Ultraelectromagneticpop (“Maling Akala”, “Pare Ko”, “Shake Yer Head”, “Ligaya”), three from Circus (“Alapaap”, “With the Smile”, “Magasin”), three from Cutterpillow (“Superproxy”, “Overdrive”, “Ang Huling El Bimbo”), one from Sticker Happy (“Spoliarium”), one from Natin99 (“Pop Machine”), and one from Buendia’s and the late Francis M.’s collaboration album, In Love and War (“Higante”). Except for Fruitcake and Carbon Stereoxide, the Heads’ Christmas outing and their final studio album, respectively, all the Heads’ albums were represented in Buendia’s set list that night.

But notwithstanding the representativeness of the songs, many of the Heads’ biggest hits were noticeably omitted in the set list that night. Throughout the performance, for instance, I was expecting Buendia to launch into the unmistakable guitar lick that introduces the Heads’ 1995 disco-inspired song “Torpedo.” It didn’t happen. “Kailan,” the great Tagalog ballad off Circus was also conspicuously left out. Lastly, I am puzzled as to why they didn’t play the song “Toyang,” which consisted of Ilocano lyrics in some parts mashed up with Paul McCartney’s “Silly Love Songs” (Ti ayat ti maysa nga baro…my loved one!). But then I remembered that this was an Ely Buendia show, and not an Eraserheads concert. And besides, as the saying goes, beggars cannot be choosers.

But the omission of many of the biggest hits of the Heads that night reminded me of how great they were as a band. Think about this: Buendia could afford to omit many of the Heads’ greatest hits and could still come up with a remarkable set list consisting of instantly recognizable songs. This is a testament to the quality and longevity of their catalogue, something that other OPM artists could only dream of. This also belies the claim that has proliferated on the comments sections of different social media platforms after Buendia’s much publicized announcement of support for the presidential candidacy of Leni Robredo, that the Heads was an overrated band, that they were inferior to other bands like Parokya ni Edgar, Rivermaya, Sponge Cola, or even Mayonnaise.  I like all those bands but I don’t think their catalogue could measure up to those of the Heads in terms of quality and longevity.  

And so for an hour and a half, Ely Buendia’s show consisted mostly of the crowd singing songs that are older than themselves, but to them seemed nonetheless familiar and relatable. At one point, they were professing their undying love to a girl named Ligaya, begging her not to ask any more questions, and to put her doubts to rest; at another they were singing of heartbreak, of the pain of being encouraged and then rejected by a kolehiyala. Still at another, they were singing at the top of their voices about the regret of not having enough money wherewith to buy the magazine that features an old flame on its cover. The crowd did not have the slightest idea who Ligaya, or Paraluman, or Inno Sotto was, and they probably did not know what a plaka is or what T.L. means, but that didn’t matter. They knew the songs, they knew the stories that they were trying to tell, and they were going to sing them like it was 1995 all over again.

But it was not 1995 anymore. Even my body was telling me so. And so by the time Buendia and his backing band started playing the first few bars of “Ang Huling El Bimbo,” I could only give a sigh of relief. Finally, we could go home, I thought. But don’t get me wrong. I did enjoy the show, and I love all the songs played that night. What is more, I love the Heads and their music. They are up there, together with the Beatles, Bob Dylan, Oasis, and Nirvana—artists whose albums I could listen to in their entirety without skipping any single track. I was just really tired after standing for almost two hours, that’s all.

And after all, those are only songs. No matter how good they are—no matter how clever their lyrics are (e.g. “Magasin”), or how brilliant and original their melodies are (e.g. “Spoliarium”)—they are just songs. We listen to them, not for the wisdom they provide, or the lessons they teach, but because they tell us of stories that we already know, that we have already experienced. In other words, they are only mirrors of our own individual realities, of the situations and circumstances that we found ourselves in, and of how we felt in reaction to those situations and circumstances. That is why as we grow older, we often find that the songs we used to listen to at different points in our lives hold a special place in our heart. It is not because we love the artists who created them, or the songs themselves. It is because those songs remind us of days gone by, of loves lost, of the period in our life when things were simpler, of the times when we were much, much happier than today.

That is the reason why I didn’t think that attending the Eraserheads reunion concert held last December was worth my trouble apart from the ticket prices (which in my opinion are just commensurate with their stature). I love the band, I love the music, and I understand the people who paid good money to relive, celebrate, and pay tribute to the memories of their youth. But I would not die if I didn’t get to hear the songs embodying the memories of my youth, which I have heard a million times anyway, being played back to me—even by one of the greatest heroes of my generation.

And besides, what is Youtube for?